


Vignette

by TempleMap



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Canon Era, Canon Universe, Fluff, Gratuitous Smut, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:07:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27929500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TempleMap/pseuds/TempleMap
Summary: It’s a damn, cold autumn when something changes.--(A collection of memories from the years they stumbled through together).
Relationships: Levi/Eren Yeager
Comments: 6
Kudos: 126





	Vignette

**Author's Note:**

> Happy premier of season 4! 
> 
> The collection of “vignettes” in this fic all take place in canonverse. They also all happen within the same story (meaning, they are not stand-alone drabbles). 
> 
> However, they are not in the order as they occur. 
> 
> Most likely, I’ll be posting further chapters of these little collections, if this is a concept my readers like. There will not be manga spoilers, but any season 4 episode that is out upon publishing is fair game.

* * *

**1.**

It’s a damn cold autumn when something changes. 

When the wide-eyed boy becomes the solemn young man; when the errant and naive rattling of anger that had spilled between his teeth, turns to a poised and thrumming danger just behind his eyes. 

It’s a damn cold autumn when something changes. When Eren’s grip on Levi isn’t as desperate in its motion -- nothing like the screaming boy who had taken him by the ankle and begged on the rooftops of Shiganshina.

_(“Captain, do you know about the ocean?”)_

This is different. His touch comes softly. It lingers. His fingers dipping along the curve of Levi’s inner wrist. 

“Captain,” said in a bedroom doorway, while yellowing leaves crack and drop behind frosted windows.

“Captain,” and something changes -- the innocence of an old standard breached. Eren’s hair spills over Levi’s knuckles as their shoulders hit the mattress. And, Eren’s breath is warm and cinnamon-scented. It graces across Levi’s brow. Against his lips. Between his legs. 

Something’s changed: it's the weight of Eren Jaeger, now heavier in his heart.

**2.**

Eren had finished like this: his chest pressed tight against the curve of Levi’s spine. His hands gripping bruises near the bones of Levi’s hips. 

He had come with a choked groan, releasing deep and hot and desperate inside the only body he had ever adored. And when it’s done — Eren’s head still fizzing like the foam on beer — Levi remains. His hips still angled upward. That curve in his back. All of his weight bared onto his chest and folded arms — still pressed flush against the flooring.

And, what had been done still lingers. Warm and bitter-scented, a trail of what was Eren’s own, had slipped from the home he had buried himself into; eeking past the curve of Levi’s ass and dripping down his right inner thigh. His cum was on Levi. 

All over him. 

It’s a dirty act, maybe, but Levi is clean. Has always been clean. Even when he doesn’t smell of soap. Even when the spaces behind his ear sting of sweat and copper. 

So Eren doesn’t ruminate on the idea before he leans forward, mouth open, to lap up the mess on Levi’s white thigh. 

A sharp breath passes through Levi’s teeth — a chide. 

“That’s filthy,” he says. 

“You’re not filthy,” says Eren. “Not to me.” 

And the flat of Eren’s tongue follows the warm line of cum higher. Pressing from Levi’s mid inner thigh, past the greening bruises of the harness that linger like a halo around his leg, and to the sensitive skin where thigh and groin meet. 

Levi shudders at the feeling. Sighs into his folded arms. 

“Unless,” breathes Eren. His mouth opens wide to lap up the last of it all. The edge of his teeth brushing skin. “Unless it’s my stuff, you mean.” 

Levi shifts, turning to sit and face Eren. His thumb and forefinger grip the edges of Eren’s jaw, and Eren’s mouth opens almost by instinct. The intermix of cum and spit thick and bubbly on his tongue. 

“Don’t be stupid,” says Levi, and he kisses him with an open mouth.

**3.**

Mom never cooked fancy, at least not like this. 

Not the vegetables coated in red powders; not this heavy, scented poultry that stings sweet like clove and lemon. Not this odd grain that’s fried with cranberries and cinnamon. 

Eren pushes food around his plate. His fork scraping at spices he could never guess the name of. 

“Too fancy for you?” asks Levi, seated beside him. From under the table, he kicks the side of his foot against Eren’s. Their shoulders bump, briefly. 

Eren shakes his head. Grimaces again at the scent. 

“My mom never cooked stuff like this. And, you know, in the cadet corps, and with the famine when I was a kid, there was no way in hell I’d be eating this.” 

There’s a booming chatter around the mess hall — great, swooping voices enthralled by the meal. All drunk on food and wine. 

Levi’s resting his chin in his open palm. He’s leaning in close in order to be heard. His voice rakes a tremor down Eren’s spine. 

“What’d you grow up on?” 

“Um. Potatoes,” says Eren. “Or, bread, or soup.” 

(Salted broth made from brining chicken bones; the entire house would smell of dinner when Eren would come home). 

“What about you, Captain? Are you like everyone else here? You like this kinda stuff?” 

Levi snorts. “Have you even glanced at my plate?” 

And, well, he hadn’t. Levi hadn’t even dared to try a bite. 

There’s a mean, little smile at the edge of Levi’s lips. 

“So you like the same shitty, bland food I do?” 

“I guess… I do, Captain.” 

And, Levi shrugs. His face looks a bit softer. 

“Alright,” he says, like it’s simple. Like it’s not the best thing that Eren’s ever heard: “I’ll cook for us later tonight.”

**4.**

When Eren comes -- and he does, with his neck bearing back; with his lips breaking open -- it’s into Levi’s right hand. A sputtering, thick mess that he rides out with hips pumping. He had managed out an “ _Oh, God-_ ” before he went alight. 

And he’s beautiful when he’s crumbling; Levi watches him through thick lashes. The rise and fall of his beige chest; the angle of his jaw. 

Eren’s beside him on the cot, laying on his back. Levi, seated beside him; he had been leaning forward just enough to bring Eren to ejaculation with the quick movement of his hand. 

It’s autumn. It’s cold. Rain sticks to the glass windows; in this cottage in the hills, they’re the only ones left. Hanji had brought the rest out for training and had given Eren a break for the day. 

“ _We’ll pick up on the experimentations tomorrow_ ,” she had said. “ _Rest up_.” 

Levi had stayed behind with some legitimate excuse: someone had to write to Erwin to update him on the process.

 _(Or maybe, just maybe, what he had stayed for was Eren, because languid on Levi’s own bed, Levi had found him. Eyes half-lidded, a tired, little smile. And, “Captain,” he had said, “Do you remember that night in Trost?”)_

And Levi kissed him because, yes, of course he did. Fervent hands had undone belting and trousers. Levi had left a trail of his lips from the base of Eren’s ear to his collarbone as he stroked him sweetly. Little coos from Eren’s throat had pushed him onward: gentle ‘ _ah’s_ ’ and ‘ _mm’s_ ’ that were the warmest things in this damn house.

And now, he had this: Eren’s spunk hot in his hand. A sweating, heaving body clinging against him. 

He should find it overwhelming, or disgusting, or vulgar.

But, he doesn’t. 

He kisses Eren instead.

  
  


**5**.

They fuck on the stone flooring. 

Where it began, how it was started: it was never proper, right, or secure. 

It’s Levi’s passivity that allowed it to happen. It’s Eren’s thick-headedness that prompted it to start. 

They fuck on the stone flooring, just their jackets folded beneath Eren’s hips. And, Levi’s knees will feel bruises tomorrow -- indentations of cobbled stone -- and there’s a risk they run of shameful discovery. Of a comrade or any other rounding the hall; of any gaze catching the trousers dangling off the edge of Eren’s right foot; of Levi’s own belt undone, the lip of his pants pushed down just enough to fit inside Eren’s body. 

But, it’s hard to care, it’s hard to care, _it’s hard to care_ when Eren’s back is suddenly arching, when his hips lean further into Levi’s touch and -- _fuck_ \-- Eren's warm body has clenched tighter around him. It forces a little groan from Levi’s throat.

“I’m close,” says Eren, “I’m so close.” 

It’s a hard whisper -- louder than what Levi is comfortable with; he’s all too aware of the occupied mess hall next door. He doesn’t mind, really, if they see, or hear, or what they think; he just doesn’t want to deal with gazes or the questions or the whispers... 

Doesn’t want to handle Erwin stating the truth: “ _One day, you might have to kill him, you know_.”

**6.**

_He’s so pretty._

And, Eren realizes: he hasn’t thought that before. 

Levi’s broad chest. His square jaw. Even when Levi’s thick lashes had fluttered against the curve of his cheek as he hit orgasm, Eren had never seen Levi as pretty. 

Appealing and grand and frightening and durable and forceful and, _alright_ , maybe good looking... But. Pretty?

Eren’s heart is still throbbing; his breath weighs heavy. The trilling of his orgasm fading only barely. 

He pulls back, slipping out from Levi. Sits just a leg’s distance away and looks at --

Levi on his back, his legs still bent and splayed. His torso half held-up by the curve of his elbows. His head is craned back. Every line of his neck exposed. And -- _and, oh god_ \-- There’s a warm trail of ejaculate along Levi’s stomach, dribbling still from the edge of his cock, and marking as far as his chest. 

But it’s there between his legs that catches Eren’s sight. The warm proof of Eren: a pooling line of come that curves along Levi’s asscheeks as it drips onto the bed. 

It’s his. Eren’s. Inside of Levi. 

It feels real, that sight. That Eren had been in him. That Levi let him come in him. That all of Eren’s mess had made Levi his own. 

Eren still feels breathless when he whispers: 

“Wait here. Let me clean you up.”

**7.**

Levi’s green cloak is made of wool. 

It’s itchy against the skin. Itchy against the thin lids of Eren’s eyes as he buries his face into it. 

He’s got his knees in dirt, Eren. He’s got his knees in dirt, and he’s got two shaking hands wrapped tight around Levi’s bicep. He’s squeezing bruises into skin. 

“It’s not your fault,” Levi whispers. 

It’s cold; an evening wind rustles the spiky seed pods from long grass. Levi’s holding utterly still. His neck craned barely rightward to speak in Eren’s ear. 

“It’s not your fault.” 

“It is,” and Eren’s pressing out words through a tight throat. He’d be wailing if he let himself. “If i had only…” 

“You’ll be saying that for the rest of your life, if you think like that.” 

Levi dips his eyes low, his lashes touching the rise of his cheek. He says: 

“That’s why you can’t.” And, he pauses. Waits for a response that doesn’t come. “Eren.” 

Levi’s cloak is made of wool. It smells like him, distinctly. Not of blood or mess or dirt or rainwater. It’s bitter like the scent of tea leaves. Yet, heady and sweet like soap. 

Eren buries his face further into it. Grips even tighter against his arm. 

For a moment, here, everything almost feels alright.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for taking the time to read. If you enjoyed, or would like to read more, please do leave a comment -- it fuels the creative fire.


End file.
